


oh how i wish you would

by Kasuchi



Series: who fills your heart with joy [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Light Angst, Moving On, Pining, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2746064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasuchi/pseuds/Kasuchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Amy stops wearing lipstick.</em> Amy has to learn to deal with being single again, and with Jake not being single anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh how i wish you would

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Episode for _The Road Trip_. There's a quasi-spoiler for 211, but you won't know what it is until the episode comes if you aren't spoiled. 
> 
> Much love to **blithers** for the beta-read. Title is a quote from _You've Got Mail_.

Amy stops wearing lipstick.

At first, it had been an accident. She'd hit snooze once too many times and freaked out at the time when she glanced at the clock after doing her eyes. She dashed to work without bothering to toss the tube in her bag, and her day had been full and challenging. She'd written three reports that day -- a personal best! -- and hadn't remembered she wasn't wearing it until she went to take her makeup off for the night. 

After that, she doesn't bother. She can _hear_ her niece groaning loudly in the back of her mind, but she justifies it with honesty: it's not like there's anyone to impress.

**& &&**

True to his word, when she leaves Teddy's stuff in a box in the entry to her apartment, it's gone after she comes back from running errands. Given that she doesn't get any unhappy texts from Teddy (well, any _more_ unhappy texts) Amy assumes he got his homebrewing kit safely.

She opens the door to her apartment and steps inside, letting it slam shut behind her. She leans back against it and surveys her place. The antique spoons are gleaming in their display case, and the sofa doilies can come out of storage now that Teddy isn't splitting his time between her place and his in Queens. The French doors to her bedroom are ajar, and her kitchen gleams, but only because the sole appliance she uses regularly is the microwave. 

She drops her purse to the floor and shrugs out of her coat, throwing it on the couch, and toes off her shoes. Her apartment isn't perfect, but it's _hers_ , and she's glad suddenly that she never suggested they move in together. 

She wiggles her toes in the carpet and thinks, _Mine_.

**& &&**

Surprising her, Jake doesn't actually make fun of her that much when they get back to New York. He's been working smarter (she can practically _hear_ him say "Smort!" in that dopey voice of his, and she has to stop herself from rolling her eyes) lately, meaning he's as good as he ever was, he just finishes in time for dinner with his girlfriend.

Sophia is the wild card, because Amy really likes her. The handful of times she's seen Sophia since The Break-Up, though, Sophia's been a little distant. Not cold, just...reserved. 

Amy can't really blame her. 

They run into each other outside of a courtroom -- Sophia is tapping at her phone, and Amy is en route to testifying. Amy debates interrupting Sophia to say hello when the decision is made for her; Sophia looks up and smiles at Amy, though not quite the wide smile she wears with Jake. Amy doesn't see anything disingenuous in Sophia's expression, and smiles back. 

"Amy! Are you testifying today?" Sophia asks in greeting, slipping her phone into her bag. 

"Yeah, just a B&E. I bet the D.A. will plead out before the judge gets to our docket, honestly." 

"And the defense attorney is that blowhard Grundhaven, right?" 

"Yeah," Amy sighs.

Sophia's expression turns pitying. "It's okay, he's the worst. Even we think that." 

Amy tilts her head slightly. "Are you becoming soft on detectives now that you're--"

"Don't even think it for a second," Sophia interrupts, ego firmly back in place. It (and her heels) make her look taller somehow. 

The doors to the courtroom open. 

Sophia smiles at Amy. "It was nice running into you. Good luck on the stand, if you get called." 

"Same to you," Amy replies automatically, then frowns. "Uh, I mean--"

"Yeah, I know." Sophia waves and is off in a clatter of heels and lost in the commotion of people filing in and out of the courtroom. 

Later, back at her desk, she tells Jake, "Hey, I ran into Sophia at the courthouse today." 

His expression immediately brightens, like he's lit from within. "Did you get to see her in action? She's incredible." 

Amy shakes her head and clicks blindly on her computer screen. The calculator and a Word document open. "Not this time." 

"Too bad. Oh, hey, how did testifying go?" 

Amy shrugs, still not looking at him. "Nothing special."

**& &&**

Jake does that thing where he smooths down his tie without thinking about it, four fingers splayed out on the silk (okay, _polyester_ ), and Amy's mouth goes dry.

 _Oh no_ , she thinks, and her hands freeze over her keyboard.

**& &&**

Her brothers buy her a cooking course for Christmas -- a full eight weeks of learning to cook, from boiling water and knife skills all the way to plating -- and finding herself single and with some time on her hands, she takes a class.

Turns out it's a popular engagement gift, so more than half the class is cute couples. Amy already wants to roll her eyes hard enough that they might fall out of her head when she hears someone scoff less subtly behind her. When she turns around, it's a high schooler, his arms folded across his chest. He looks abashed until one of the women does an Eskimo kiss with her fiancée, and Amy turns her eyes heavenward. 

The kid's name is Gabe and he's taking cooking classes because he's better at pastries than stovetop, apparently, which Amy can understand. 

"I'm better at defrosting than any other setting," Amy replies. They're preparing the salad because it was immediately obvious that Amy has passable knife skills and almost nothing else. The kid has a good eye for color, given how he laid out their vegetables, so she's cleaning and chopping salad ingredients while he tosses greens in a dressing they mixed by hand. 

He scoffs. "That isn't even a little bit the same." 

"It totally is. Reheating is an art." 

"An art that deserves to be lost." 

"Hey!" She straightens and opens her mouth to say something.

He cuts her off. "The spinach is wilting." 

"Shit!" 

Their salad is amazing, at least.

**& &&**

She and Jake end up assigned together on a stakeout -- this one expected to just be one shift for three days, as opposed to the eight-day nightmare that was Jake and Charles's Christmas adventure. She mentions this in hour three of day two.

"Me and Charles's Christmas stakeout is something we shall never speak of again." Jake's expression is purely pained. Amy can't help but find it funny, it's so exaggerated.

"C'mon," Amy cajoles, drumming her hands on the steering wheel. "I think it's cute they found you two spooning. I heard everyone took pictures before they woke you guys up." 

"They did, and now at least seven guys I went to the academy with are blackmailing me. I'm helping three of them move next month." 

"You could just acknowledge that you and Charles have some romantic tension. They say admitting it is the first step to recovery." She's teasing him and sipping at her coffee, which is warm even through her gloves. 

"What, like with us?" He says it so casually that Amy resents her heart clenching, the way her stomach bottoms out, the way it feels like all of her ribs are being squeezed. "We both know it would've been a disaster, anyway," Jake says dismissively, including a shrug that shouldn't be as devastating as it is. 

"Right," Amy says faintly, covering up her expression with coffee and pretending to look at the building entrance. 

Jake brings the binoculars up to his eyes. "Besides, I honestly couldn't tell you how Boyle would react. Like, what if he did wanna date? I've got Sophia. Plus, he's not really my type." He pulls the binoculars away for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Though he was a surprisingly thoughtful big spoon." 

Amy groans. "I hate you," she says, and makes a disgusted noise. She slugs him in the shoulder and he laughs even as he rubs his undoubtedly stinging arm.

**& &&**

That's just it, though: Amy's not sure it _would_ have been a disaster.

'Cause every few days Jake tells Boyle or Rosa or everyone about something Sophia said or did or texted or Snapchatted him between trials or while working late. Sometimes Sophia joins them for after-work drinks, and she and Jake will work the room, checking in with touches across a waist or along a shoulder or arm. 

Amy notices, naturally. She's a detective. She _detects_ , dammit. 

Fine, maybe she's a little envious. It had been a long time since being with Teddy had felt that easy. 

They entwine fingers, and Amy turns her full attention back to Rosa, who is frowning slightly, moreso than usual. 

"You're both idiots," Rosa says.

"Yeah, well," Amy replies with a shrug. She downs the rest of her Manhattan. "You want another?"

**& &&**

Everyone else is doing stuff related to the Giggle Pig taskforce, so Amy gets partnered with Kearns from the weekend shift on an auto case.

It's pretty straightforward, and some good, solid detective work leads them to the chop shop. They pass the case over to the head of the auto division when the perp offers to flip on some other booster, intel relevant to an ongoing investigation that Auto is conducting, and she and Kearns are left with summation of statements and packing up the evidence. 

Across, Jake's desk is empty, he and Charles off on a raid, and Rosa is observing Hitchcock and Scully interviewing some informant. Captain Holt is preparing a speech for the next AAGLNYCPA meeting, and Sarge is home with his sick kids. Kearns settles into Charles's desk and efficiently types up his reports before printing, stapling, and filing them. Amy clicks distractedly at her computer, filling out boxes haphazardly rather than in her usual ordered fashion. 

Kearns hands her his file before waving goodbye. Amy offers a distracted parting, and flips through his report. He's tidy and terse, putting in exactly the required amount and nothing more. It's like he's some unholy combination of--

Her train of thought is interrupted by Gina's phone chiming several times in a row, and Amy would like to ignore it, except GIna cackles madly, and Amy's curiosity gets the best of her. 

"Something good?" 

Gina scoffs. "Obviously." 

Feeling dismissed, Amy sighs and withdraws. "Nevermind," she mutters. 

"If you must know," Gina adds, and turns the phone around. "Apparently they found the lab where they've been cooking Giggle Pig, and there was a board with name ideas for the Giggle Pig varieties. Spoiler alert: they're all hilarious." 

Amy leans in closer. "Does that say, 'Farting Dog'?"

"Yup." 

"Oh, no."

"Oh, _yes_ ," Gina says, beaming. 

Later, she hears Jake and Charles riffing on the terrible names, making up other ones, and "Bumbling Otter" inexplicably becomes a quasi-inside joke among the detectives. 

That weekend, when she takes her niece to the aquarium, Amy uncharacteristically impulse-buys an otter toy that she literally throws at Jake on Monday, once he's caffeinated. 

"Sweet," Jake says, catching it against his chest and marveling at it. He holds the toy in front of him, like Rafiki presenting Simba to the Pride. "I dub thee Sergeant Peanut Butter." 

"Like the horse that won the medal of valor with Charles?" Gina comments snidely.

Boyle makes a low moaning sound.

Jake looks stricken, expression torn between mortified and gleeful.

Amy ducks her head to hide her smile, but her shoulders shake from laughter and give her away.

**& &&**

Sophia stops by the precinct for some adorable and insignificant reason, and Amy is in the kitchen making tea when she sees Sophia perch on the edge of Jake's desk. Amy can't help but notice the way Jake casually rests his hand on Sophia's leg, his other hand idly playing with the ends of her loose hair.

Amy self-consciously touches the bun her hair is rolled into, secured with a couple of bobby pins. Gina and Rosa are nowhere to be found, but Charles is in the kitchen (Charles might always be in the kitchen, it's unclear) and he sends her a look so filled with understanding and knowledge that Amy nearly winces. 

Sophia laughs, the sound carrying across the bullpen, and Amy tries to remember if her cigarettes are still in this purse or if she transferred them to her other one.

**& &&**

"Shit," Amy mutters, rolling her neck.

"Stop," Jake says flatly, voice slightly muffled by the hand he's running over his face. "You've said that 157 times in the last 3 hours. I can't take it anymore." 

"It's 164 times, and ugh, fine, I'll stop." There's a beat of silence, and Amy tilts her head to the side, as if to crack her neck. "Fuck," she mutters.

Jake laughs, the edges of it slightly hysterical, and she grins at him across the expanse of their desks. They're at the end of a 30-hour shift, one that they haven't had a moment's rest during. A redball came in, and they were the pairing that Holt put on the case. In an odd twist, Amy got the primary designation, and Jake had been nothing but helpful as they managed police resources to find the perpetrator of a hate crime in a predominantly Latino block of their neighborhood. The victim had been viciously beaten and was being kept under a medically-induced coma. It had been exhausting, physically and emotionally, as Amy and a number of Latino patrol officers had taken statements in English and Spanish. 

Back at the precinct a day and change later than they'd arrived, Amy and Jake are on orders to take a break, otherwise they'd be preparing statements and evidence for the D.A., who intends to prosecute as fast as the law will allow -- or so he keeps telling reporters from the steps of the _Law & Order_ courthouse, TV-ready even from PIX 11's unflattering from-below angle of the press conference.

"You hungry?" she asks, toying with her cell phone. She's got her feet on her desk, which is weird for her, but the boots she'd tugged on that morning (yesterday morning) pinch, and after hour 16 she had stopped feeling her pinky toes. She's half-convinced her arches are falling. 

"Yeah, I could eat." Jake stretches his hands over his head, arching his back as he stretches his shoulders, eyes closed and mouth slightly pursed. Amy can't look away, though she tries to pretend she's tapping through Seamless when he opens his eyes again. She's too slow. "Something on my face, Santiago?" 

She's spared from answering by the sound of his phone ringing, and he holds up a hand and smiles apologetically. "Hello, darling," he greets, eyes going crinkly at the corners and voice so warm that the room suddenly seems chilly, even under her blazer.

Amy can vaguely hear Sophia's voice, tinny in Jake's ear, and she picks up her coffee mug and crosses the room to the kitchenette, pouring herself the last of the fresh pot they'd brewed an hour ago, doctoring it to resemble something palatable. She moves slowly, limbs leaden and mind full of static. She sends the stirrer into the trash with more force than is necessary, but it doesn't bounce back out or tear a hole in the plastic, so she pays it no mind and walks back to her desk.

Jake is finishing up his conversation. "I'll see you back at home." He pauses and laughs. "Yes, I'll wear that thing you like. Bye." 

She wraps her hands around the mug. "Sophia working late?" 

"Yeah, some big case. It's okay, I'll see her later tonight. Weren't you ordering us dinner?" 

"Not yet." Amy swallows around her thick tongue. "Why don't you surprise her by bringing her dinner? Chinese food, or sandwiches or something." 

Jake's expression wavers between something she can't quite identify -- impressed, maybe? -- and something like joy. "You're just trying to get rid of me," he says, smirking. His mouth is wide and dark in his face. 

Amy shakes her head. "More like trying to save your relationship." She makes a shooing gesture. "Go surprise your girlfriend." 

Jake's expression falls slowly, until it's the most serious she's ever seen him, and his gaze searches her face for a long moment. Amy feels her heart race, silently cursing her college ex-boyfriend Derek for telling her she had no poker face even as he was breaking up with her, and feels her hands tighten around the mug. The air feels charged, the iron taste of lightning on the tip of her tongue. 

"Okay," he says at last. "Thanks for the tip, Santiago." He pushes back, the chair's wheels squeaking, and stands. (Amy doesn't realize she's holding her breath until she exhales sharply when he stands.) He pulls on his leather jacket, and Amy pretends to surf through restaurant menus while Jake gathers his things. "See you tomorrow." 

Amy waves goodbye and waits the ten heartbeats until he's gone. She takes a sip of her coffee, cringes, and then strides to the sink to dump it out and wash the mug. 

It tastes like salt, and the bitterness lingers in her mouth.

**& &&**

Sarge slides onto the stool by her, holding a lowball glass in his left hand. His ring strikes the glass intermittently, producing a pleasant chime that complements the low rumble of voices around her. Terry's sheer size dwarfs everything around him, including the bar itself, somehow. Amy almost wants to ask how he does it.

"Something is bothering you," Terry says, setting his glass on the bar. "And until you deal with it, nothing's going to change." He frowns slightly as he takes a sip, almost to himself, and Amy wonders if something was wrong with his drink. 

Amy glances across the bar, where Jake, Sophia, Charles, and Holt are talking. Jake has his arm around Sophia's waist, and she's got her fingers entwined with his where they rest on her hip, a glass of wine in her other hand. "I don't think Sophia likes me very much," she says quietly, throwing back the rest of her drink and requesting another whiskey, neat. 

"Ridiculous, Sophia likes all of us, 'despite' the fact that we're detectives." Sarge manages some air quotes even with the glass in his hand.

Amy shakes her head. "She was the defense attorney in the case I was testifying in the other day, and when I got on the stand she was…" She trails off.

Terry chuckles. "Sophia is tough. She kicks ass and doesn't apologize. It makes her good at her job." He taps her on the forearm. "And it's the same thing that makes you good at yours." 

Amy smiles, running a finger along the rim of the glass. She looks over at Sophia again, and quickly looks away -- Charles and Holt have moved away, and Jake is pushing back a lock of Sophia's hair and moving in for a movie-quality kiss. She can tell even from across the room. 

Terry follows her gaze. "I have a feeling there's something _else_ that's bothering you about her." His brow furrows. "Something you _can't_ deal with right now?" 

Amy shoots Terry a look. "How did you--" 

"I'm a detective." He raises his eyebrows, making his forehead wrinkle dramatically. His expression holds for a beat before relaxing. "Also, I had this same conversation last year with Jake." 

"Wait, you mean he told you?" 

"That he had feelings for you? Not in so many words." Terry sets aside his drink and straightens. "Do you? Have feelings for him?" 

Amy shakes her head, pauses, then shrugs. "It doesn't matter now."

Terry's expression softens. "You two have the worst timing, you know that?" 

She groans. "I'm gonna need another drink. Or seven." 

Across the bar, Jake and Sophia are revolving, middle school style, to some song on the bar jukebox. Sophia tips her head up to say something, and Jake's expression breaks into a wide smile, and Amy downs the rest of her drink. 

"One down," Terry says. 

"Two," Amy corrects flatly, and signals for another double.

**& &&**

Door duty again, this time in a fancy new co-op building right on the edge of Prospect Park, and Jake and Amy are assigned the top four floors, while Boyle and Rosa knock on the first few stories.

Jake keeps up his empty prattle successfully for two full floors. Amy only rolls her eyes four times, but the sound of his voice helps. They haven't been paired up much lately, and in spite of their desks being adjacent, she's barely seen him. It's nice to have him all to herself for a little while. 

"I've missed this," she says, when he pauses for breath. 

He looks startled for a moment, as they turn the corner for the C and D units on the sixth floor, before his expression shifts into a smirk. "Door duty or me being a white noise machine?" 

She rolls her eyes. "Shut up. You know what I meant." 

"Yeah, yeah," he replies. "It _has_ been a while since we got partnered up, though." 

Amy doesn't say that's probably Sarge's doing.

He raises his fist and knocks on the door. "NYPD," he says, loudly enough to carry. He glances at her and asks in a more modulated tone, "Two more floors after this, yeah?" 

"Assuming we don't get a lead." She listens for shuffling behind the door. "But I'm sure Sarge will want us to compile our notes before we follow up." The locks turn, the deadbolt retreating with a _thunk_. 

"Yeah, there's, what, 180 units in this building?" He shakes his head. "Compiling notes will take a team of us the rest of the day." 

Amy touches her nose. "Not it." 

Jake laughs at that, a bright, startled sound that Amy's not sure she's ever elicited from him before. "Nose goes? Really? How old are we, _detective_?" 

"You tell me, _fartmonster_." 

The door opens slowly. "Yes, Mlepnos." 

"You're kidding," Amy says flatly. "Do you move every six months or something?" 

Jake beams at the guy. "Hey, man! How was your trip to Leirkrakeegovnia last month?" 

Amy looks at him. "You're _friends_ with him?"

Jake shrugs. "We kept running into him, I figured it was a sign." 

"You're such a weirdo."

Mlepnos is watching them volley dialogue back and forth like a tennis ref. "Uhhh, is Mlepnos? Trip was good. Lots of singing." He pauses. "I see nothing weird today. Thank you, bye." He closes the door before Jake or Amy can stop him. 

"How? Just….how?" Amy whispers, as they move down the short corridor to the last unit on the floor. 

"I think he's good luck," Jake whispers back, bumping his shoulder into hers. Amy's skin feels like sparks. "Both times he showed up were hard cases we solved." They stop in front of the next unit and Jake raises his fist to knock.

**& &&**

Their last cooking class, Amy and Gabe roast a whole chicken. They watch the oven like hawks, both of them hesitant to burn the damn thing, but more terrified of serving it underdone.

After the designated cooking time, their chef instructor hands them the thermometer, shaking his head at their combined neuroses. 

Amy holds the thermometer in the palm of her hand. "Moment of truth," she murmurs, then closes her hand around it and hands it to Gabe. "Do it," she commands.

Gabe looks at her like she's crazy. "It's just a chicken."

"I can't look," she replies honestly, and covers her eyes with her hands. 

She can _hear_ Gabe roll his eyes. "Don't peek," he comments sarcastically. Amy hears the oven door open, feels the rush of warm air, smells the rosemary and lemon, and her mouth begins to water. 

"Perfect," their chef instructor says. "It should be done." 

When they've plated and carved, the chef beams as he points to a white-all-the-way-through piece of breast. 

The class toasts to the end of the course, and the chef asks everyone to go around the room to talk about the most important thing they learned. Most of the couples talk about learning how to be a better team. One couple, a little more literalist, wryly details appropriate temperatures for cooking, eliciting a chuckle from the class as they recall the charred protein that had been served that week. 

When Amy's turn is called, she swirls her wineglass. "I guess...that control is overrated. Sometimes you just have to make the best of what you've got in front of you." 

Gabe, seated beside her, takes a long drink of water before his turn. "Don't be afraid to stop. The three seconds you take to check where you are could be the difference between baking soda and salt in the pasta." 

The room chuckles at that, but Amy looks at Gabe for a long moment. Then, she claps him on the shoulder. "I liked working with you," she says, and takes a long sip of wine.

"Yeah," Gabe says, grinning at her. "You're all right, for a crazy cop lady." 

"And moment over," she mutters, setting her wineglass down and cutting into her meal.

**& &&**

Amy starts dating again a while after The Breakup. She waits until she's hit the point where staying in and watching Netflix stops sounding like "self-care" and starts to sound like "self-pity," then puts on a dress and goes to a bar that Kylie texts her about and which she'd read about on Gothamist or The Verge.

The place is loud and busy enough that Amy feels that rush that comes from knowing that the night could become anything, that anything could happen. She pushes her way to the bar and orders a drink.

Two hours later, she's met this on-the-tall-side guy, with brown hair and hazel eyes that almost glow in the low, golden light of the bar. His hair is just a touch longer than she likes, the edges curling over his ears, but he's wearing a button-down that's a little undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Amy likes the way his biceps are _just_ visible when he lifts his arm to signal the bartender, likes the way the light catches on his glasses, likes the way his full lips are dark in his face, likes the way his mouth quirks upward when she makes a sarcastic joke. 

She likes the way that mouth feels on hers, the way his tongue brushes against hers, tentative and then confident, likes how he kisses with his whole body. She takes him home and lets him touch her, lets him pull off her bra and run his hands through her hair and breathe, "Amy," into the dark. 

In the morning, he's gone, but he leaves a note taped to her bathroom mirror that says he got called away early, but that he'd like to see her again, his number written in a clear hand. 

She thinks about the myriad reasons she shouldn't get into a relationship -- work is busy, Teddy is still a fresh memory, the fact that her mouth goes dry any time Jake loosens his tie and pops open the top button of his shirt -- and then thinks, _Maybe_.


End file.
